“Nobody’s got a tennis ball, I suppose?” queried Poole.
Nobody had.
“Would this do, guv’nor?”
A small crowd, consisting of P. C. Lolling’s relief and a City of Westminster street scavenger had by this time collected. Poole had not noticed the latter till he spoke. The man was holding in the palm of his hand what looked like a long, rounded stone, shaped rather like a shot-gun cartridge, but shorter. Poole picked it out of the man’s hand and found that it was made of rubber but was distinctly heavy; close inspection proved that it had a metal core, to one end of which was attached a very short fragment of thin cord.
“What on earth’s this?” asked Poole.
“It’s something I picked out of that very grating, sir. It’s my job to clear them and I often find things that have fallen through,” replied the man. “I was puzzled to know what it was and I kept it in my pocket in case anyone came along and asked about it.”
“You found it here? When, man, when?”
“Matter of a fortnight ago, sir. The night after that poor gentleman died.”
CHAPTER XIX.
The Ethiopian and General Development Company
“Good God; it’s a bullet—a rubber bullet!”